The Life and Immortality of Carlisle Cullen
by Doctor It
Summary: The travels and trials of Carlisle as he overcomes the creature he has become, discovers his true calling, and finds the love and family he never truly knew in his human life. On Hiatus.
1. The Beginning of the Beginning

***Note*  
I hope it's not too slow, I'm just trying to get as much of the background out of the way so that I can write about the more fun stuff. :3**

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_Haha forgot a Disclaimer....: All Canons etc belong to Steph Meyer. Yea yea, I feel sorry for them too._

_**The Life and Immortality of Carlisle Cullen**_

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The Beginning of the Beginning

My earliest memory that I can clearly recall is receiving a present from Father; my very first cross. My exact age escapes me, but I was young enough to anticipate the reception of any present with the utmost joy. It was made of oak and carved rigidly and erect; much like my father's countenance. I recall the hours I spent smoothing the wood with my eager hands, tracing the paths a knife once touched. It was a rare thing, to receive a gift from Father. I was unused to affection; my mother died bringing me into this world and the extent of familial warmth I received were rough shoulder clasps from Father, and sympathetic pats from the church-goers.

My upbringing was firm and unyielding, but I did not know any other. Father was an enthusiast in his profession as the pastor of our church. His raging sermons were the fuel to my childhood night terrors; although regardless I was in awe of his fearlessness with regard to the Devil, and the fires of damnation. He was, for a while, the source of my protection. He was God's chosen, and being his son I would be granted protection. It was my greatest ambition to be like my father, and to follow in his footsteps; an ambition he instigated and supported.

He ran a school next to his Pastor priorities, which I attended with a few other boys. Besides penmanship, reading, and arithmetic, we were well schooled in every aspect of our religion possible. I took relish in my studies, for my world was very small, and I jumped upon any opportunity to fill my mindlessly turning thoughts. My father also took especial joy in lecturing on this world's evils. Top on his list were Roman Catholics, witches, and vampires. They were the fungus, the scourge of the earth, and were spawned by Lucifer himself to tempt and sully the good. It wasn't 'till I was fourteen that I, and a few of my other school mates, was given the privilege of attending a Hunt. Frequently, townspeople flocked to Pastor Cullen with rumors and horror stories of resident witches, concealed heretics, and preying vampires. Not only that, but those of any other religion but Protestant were assailed, as well as those suspected of sodomy or adultery.

My first Hunt was initiated with the complaints of several people from a town a little outside of London who suffered from sudden blight, and sickness. A hermitic old woman who resided at the edge of the town's surrounding woods was secretly accused. Father took care to Hunt upon suspicion. He believed any case brought to him was a divine assignment sent down to him, and as he had no legal judicial power, he would take the power of the Church and his followers to carry out God's wrath. In any case, his actions were never deterred. I suspect now that the Crown turned a blind—but smiling—eye from Father's activities, as it benefited their cause.

The night of the Hunt was taut with anticipation. I gathered with my school mates in our church, with the rest of Father's rallied group. I was sick with eagerness, and could barely hear my Father roar out inciting words, and I barely acknowledged the smug grins on the faces surrounding me. In a flurry of energy, we left the church to our mounts, and sat in our saddles, clutching lit torches in our hands. A few of us were given swords, though I doubted what they could do against a witch's magic. However, whether or not doused in holy water, I had enough education to know where to stick one.

The night was freezing, it being the beginning of winter. I clutched to my torch, shuddering despite the warmth the fire provided upon my face. My father stood erect beside me, keeping his mount at a clip trot. I was honored with a place at his right hand, at the front of the mob which huddled behind me. Needless to say, most of our spirits had been dampened by the cold as we reached the edge of the accursed town. But reminding us of the dour and sickly town we had just crossed, Father excited us once again for justice. I was secretly pleased that my first Hunt was for a witch. They were far rarer than Pagans or sodomizers; though not half as rare as vampires. The magicked, twisted, and malformed idea I held of the vaguely supernatural gave me a sick sense of entertainment. And again, I was fervent in my repulsion of evil, like my father.

I remember how our torchlight flickered ominously as we stood outside the old woman's small cottage. Firelight could be seen peeking through the shuttered windows, and I could spot a tiny garden that was fenced against the cottage wall. Little twiggy shrubs, which I presumed were dead, feebly stuck out of the frost-bitten ground. Father dismounted, and I followed suit, watching as he strode to the door, and kicked it in with the hard heel of his boot. The door swung open easily, not being locked, and he stumbled into the one roomed abode, his face furious and aflame. I averted my eyes at his fumble, and barely caught his agitated beckoning towards myself and two others. We sidled into the small space, and I felt a brief relief at the warmth that enveloped me. However, the following smell was not as comfortable, and I endeavored to covertly breathe through my mouth. My father flicked his fingers, and one of the other men and I stepped forward to haul the old woman from her place by the fire, to stand bent in front of him.

"Mrs. Elizabeth Hourd. By the power invested in me by our Lord God, I find thee guilty of witchcraft, and thus will purge thee of the evil that ye have imposed upon this town." His voice was cold, and rang in the small room. I felt the poor women shiver, and make to speak, but Father gestured once again, and I moved forward to force Mrs. Hourd out into the cold night.

That night, Mrs. Hourd was ruthlessly beaten on the cold ground until she admitted her guilt through broken teeth and in the same hour was staked in her house, where she and it were burned to the ground.

We did not return home 'till early morning, but I could not sleep. I was given leave to my room for however long I wished, but as I rested upon my bed I could not close my eyes but for seeing the blood and fire, and hearing Mrs. Hourd's pained cries. I was ashamed at my pity for the woman, a pity my father would have become angered for. She was a witch, I told myself, responsible for the suffering of others and the corruption of her soul. She was damned, and thus purged. These things I told myself, but nevertheless for many nights I could not sleep without nightmares.

My memory of my human life remains blurry at best in most parts, but I recall that after my first Hunt, many followed that I was privy to. And as the years past, Father was ever more fervent in his goal to expunge the vampire scourge. Any report of a blood drinking citizen was inevitably brought to his attention, and he took to addressing each accusation with religious fervor. As I grew older, I learned most of the rumors and accusations that came to our church were false, and unfounded, and many based on bitter feuds. I slowly learned that my father was not the great man I thought he was, but he was my only family, and I was his.

My father did not discriminate between truth and lies, and once I became enlightened I could not stomach the slaughter of the innocent, though socially spited. Every Hunt, despite my distaste, I made sure to come along. Father soon trusted and depended me to lead them as he body slowly failed him in his endeavors. Using his trust to others advantage, I convinced him many times to remain home for Hunts in order to investigate claims thoroughly. Rarely, if ever, did I find a founded accusation, and found myself having to lie to my father upon the conclusion of my judgments. On Hunts without Father, I made to only bring a few friends who I trusted implicitly to trust _my_ judgment and keep my doings undisclosed. Most events that I led left the accused alive, but we were sure to properly rough them up in order to discredit any rumors of "heretic tolerance" that may have arisen. Of course, with our lack of killing, it was inevitable that Father heard of my lack of purging when his more bloodthirsty associates caught wind of my mercy. His disapproval and following accompaniment on Hunts led to my witness of further blatant murders. However, I made sure that the Hunts we went on were against those with a definite criminal background. It did little to assuage my guilt, and nonetheless I had more blood on my hands.

My fervor to impress my devotion to my father did not dampen, and was inevitably rewarded. It was another rainy day in London when Pastor Cullen received chilling accounts of ravaged throats of abandoned corpses. Stories of screams coming from fresh graves, graves found dug up and empty not three days later. At the time, Father was frequently ill, and when the news came to our attention he was bedridden with a chest cold. Our housekeeper and I unyieldingly prevailed upon him to rest himself so that he may be well for Church, and whatever other God's work he had been charged with. I was already three-and-twenty by then, old enough to take responsibility of the house, and had used my father's illness, though it grieved me, to prevent as many unfounded purgings. He knew of it, and grieved me of it, but could do nothing of it.

Hearing the disturbing accounts, I was fiercely charged by him, in representation of the Church, to immediately apprehend the vampire, and he solicited to me several people of who he greatly suspected being culprit. It was enough for me to hear of the vivid murders to have incentive to conduct my own investigation; however I knew how much it would mean to Father that I solved this case. And, as it was on the way, I was given the opportunity to call on Miss Diana Forster, a young maiden who attended our church, and had caught my acquaintance.

A few days after receiving the news, I set off with but two companions. Little did I know how drastically my life would change the instant I left the parsonage. Little did I know that vampires were, in fact, more real than I would ever have known.

***Note*  
I'm not a huge fan of twilight, though I did follow the series when it started. This idea popped in my head, to write Carlisle's story, and I was excited. o: Review and tell me if I should continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

***Note*  
It's a bit short, but I needed it to be. ): Enjoy!**

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_Disclaimer: Carlisle, his father, etceterah etceterah, sadly belong to Stephanie Meyer. -sniff- _

_**The Life and Immortality of Carlisle Cullen**_

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Beginning of the End

The journey to the center of London was unremarkably pleasant, and my call upon Miss Forster might have now been forgotten if it were not for the news she gave me. Upon arrival, her countenance was stricken, and drove me to immediate inquiry after her health. Seated down, she, shaken, recalled a tale that occurred just the night before.

"I was readying for bed," she began, "When a rapid knocking on my window startled me from my activity. My room being on the first floor, whoever was at the window I knew to be crouching in the garden, which is difficult to enter outside of the house unless you know it well. I took a candle and made to open the window, ready to use it as a light or a weapon, when the light shone a most terrifying face. When I recovered my senses, I saw it to be my dear brother, who had left that very day for business with the Parliamentary archivists. He was expected to be home earlier that night, but we had assumed his absence from supper to be for some reason founded. His countenance was bloodied and he stared at me in great pain.

'I am not long for this world Di, the creature hunts me and I know he merely toys with me. I fear him close even now. Tell Mother what has become of me. Take care my dear sister.'

"His words haunt me still. And after he spoke, he ran off, ignoring my protestations, and then I heard a great and terrible scream that soon was stifled. I ran into the garden, heedless of forethought, soon accompanied by our manservant Jerold, but we could not find a trace of my darling Peter but for his blood upon my window frame."

At this point, Miss Forster had been overcome by her sorrow, and I stayed only a little longer to make sure I left her in higher spirits. It had been in my plans to ask for her hand in the near future, and so took it upon myself to properly console her, thought it was not as if I did not feel myself great sorrow for her brother's fate. It only fueled my ambition to catch the monster. And thus, I told her of my investigation, and upon her sudden despair of my well being, I assured her that I would be in no danger, for God held my soul safely in his hands. Yes, I believed that faithfully. She then, after recovering, directed me to the habitations of the persons my father had suspected earlier, though she insisted they were from capable of doing such inhumane crimes.

Once I was sure she was well, I took leave in pursuit of suspects. I do not remember their names or faces, but I know it took little to see that the men were incapable of slaughtering their own dinner, much less ravage fellow human beings. Though relieved at their innocence, I was without leads, and it meant further delving on my part. Miss Forster's tale stayed in my head, the word 'creature' revolving in my thoughts. That, and another tale I discovered upon my inquiries that day.

I returned home perturbed, and was thankful Father had already retired for the night. Besides fruitlessly questioning common men, I had received this second tale from a family member of the wife of a 'suspect'. Her cousin had set off to Fleet Street for shopping, and had disappeared. Her body had then been found a week earlier from when I was told the tale. Her throat was slashed, and her heart ripped out. This, and Miss Forster's story sent chills down my limbs profusely, and I knew that these murders were not by a human being.

Over the next few weeks, my trips to the main parts of London were frequent. I found myself prowling the streets at night, baiting myself, and at the same time seeking a crime in its making. The places where many victims were last seen, and others where victims were discovered, these places became my second home. However, my vigils were unrewarded. I might have become discouraged if I hadn't convinced myself so thoroughly that I had come upon the trail of a vampire. The draining of blood was evident in victims, and the amount of power that it would take to physically rip out one's heart I figured to be enormous.

The elation I felt at finally bringing forth one of my father's greatest aspirations fueled my patience and determination. My father, though, was hardly aware of my activities. He was too ill to leave his bedchamber, and I myself had taken in at an inn in order to stay at a convenient distance from my haunts. Most people knew of Pastor Cullen's past and reputation, and upon my name, I was given wide berth for my work.

The season was turning cold as my investigation went on. I soon found myself one of the few who braved the cruel weather at night. I grew frustrated with my unsuccessfulness, as in a month, there were no missing persons or discovered corpses. I learned nothing but locations from victims' families, and there was no pattern in choice of prey. I was left with nothing. It was if the monster knew that _I_ was hunting _him._ And so, I decided to return home, and create an appearance of surrender. I might have been catering to my own ego, thinking the monster was hiding from my watch, but I distinctly felt the leering jeer that was mentally directed at me. Though it painted me to create any sort of semblance of defeat, I took my leave of the inn, and returned home.

My father was glad to see me. According to our housekeeper, he was quite put out with my absence, especially when he was too ill to do any sort of activity he might've enjoyed, in order to distract himself. I too missed his aged voice, and spontaneous sermons that often happened throughout the day. Happily, he was not too ill to sup at the table, and I was able to properly account to him my recent investigations. Surprisingly, he made no comment, other than to remind me to be wary for myself. His sentiment touched me, for it was rare for him to so voice his concern. But the moment was soon left alone as he irritably inquired when I was to marry my Miss Forster and give him grandsons.

"Soon," I told him.

I visited Miss Forster often during my repose from 'work', and I also was given the honor of running the Sunday services. Father deemed it time for me to practice my future profession, but it pained me to know he could no longer handle the profession in which he took so much passion and joy. Nonetheless, I made an effort to live up to his reputation, though I knew my sermons were far less damning or exciting. I tended to preach filial precepts, and more peaceful acts, with the families of the victims in mind.

Miss Forster did not fail to attend my services, and I could see that she was reciprocating my affections. It gave me great pleasure, and as the winter progressed, I decided upon a date in which I would ask for her hand. I was already three-and-twenty, far old enough to be married.

I can still remember her wind-reddened face as she accepted my proposal. She was a pretty, fair thing, and young. Though naïve, she was grounded, and had steady mind. My father had grinned, and clasped me firmly on my shoulder, his strength still present in spite of his sickness. Mrs. Forster had been ecstatic, for she would have a man again in the family. She had lost her husband half a decade ago, and the loss of her son was a mighty toll upon her. I myself momentarily forgot my pursuit of the vampire, in joy of my impending nuptials.

However, it was the night where I was having a small Christmas dinner—which we allowed ourselves to have in curbed celebration despite our religious values— where my father and I were invited with the Forster's, that my pleasant respite ceased. In the middle of eating, there was a frantic scream in the street, nearly just outside the townhouse, and our party froze in our activity. A second scream woke me from my petrified state, and I rushed from my table seat to outside, barely leaving time to don my coat.

In midst of the street lay a gruesome blood trail, and with no hesitation, I made to follow it.

***Note*  
Thank you for the reviews I received on chapter one! But...**

**PLEASE REVIEW. Everyone~  
Otherwise I'll slowly lose motivation to update quickly. ):  
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